Lost & Found
by skybluescramble
Summary: My name is Kudo Shinichi, a private detective. One cold day, inside an abandoned cardboard I find a... GIRL? Who is she? Why she doesn't talk? What is happening here? - A two-shot story.
1. Recto

from **skybluescramble**:

well.. i come with another idea & imagination.

**WARNING**: this. is. an. **AU**. fiction.

not to mention a bit cheesy-weezy.

there, i've told you. bear with me. honestly, this is not a very original plot, but i'll try to do my best because when i tried to picture it in my head… this story seems quite fun to write.

enjoy the fic.

it's gonna be a two-shot, i guess.

and… oh, some reviews will help me to know what you think (:

* * *

DISCLAIMER:

Detective Conan/名探偵コナン

Gosho Aoyama©1994

* * *

**:: Lost & Found ::**

**.**

**- Recto -**

**.**

NAME: Kudo Shinichi.

Male. twenty nine years old. Strikingly handsome. Naturally cool. Smart, multi-talented, charismatic, and well-paid. Quite rich, you can say. Popular amongst women. Single. Well, I choose to be single. Don't you want to know why? Because once they know you're hot but (unfortunately) already taken, all the good girls will automatically back off. The ones who remain are usually those bitches who like to steal other people's boyfriend and admit it shamelessly. That was how things are. As a result, my popularity rate will go down.

Like I'd let that happen…

Occupation? No, definitely not a host. I am a detective. Being a host may suit all the good looks but… no. Besides, I have been a detective since my high school days and I always wanted to be one since kindergarten. My father, Kudo Yusaku, is a famous writer. His specialty is mystery-thriller, detective kind of novels. Back then, I loved reading his drafts and tried to figure out his riddles. If I succeeded to know who the culprit was, he would pat my head and said, "Good job, Shin."

I'm not being sentimental.

That was just… reminiscing old moments.

There is a fine line between them. Just so you know.

I live in a big, Western-style manor—inheritance from my father, yeah—at Block 2, Beika City. Actually the house is too big for me alone, but I cannot complain. Sometimes, when I feel too lazy to make my own bed, I'd prefer to sleep in a different bedroom for the next day and tidy up the entire house in my leisure time. Living by yourself isn't bad at all, was it?

Or that is what I thought… before this year's winter come.

I grin, baring two neat horizontal lines of teeth to check them carefully. Clean. My hand swipe along my jaw line. Smooth. It is perfectly shaved. Necktie, check. Shirt, check. My next target is the hair. Expertly I do it in the usual way and after taking a final glance at the mirror I wear my jacket, grab my coat and take leave.

It is pretty freezing outside. Today's weather forecast say that the temperature will be going around two or three degree of Celsius. I breathe onto both palms, enjoying the ticklish sensation of the brief warmth. Then, I hear my cell-phone rang.

Inspector Megure.

"I'm on my way now," I tell him. "Officer Takagi sent me the address yesterday via mail. I've read all the files, don't worry. Yes, please. Alright. I will be there as soon as possible."

Snapping the phone shut, I begin to quicken my pace. True, I do have my own car in the garage, but I like using public transportation better. Firstly, it save some energy (I'm trying to be environmental-friendly here, global climate change is indeed creepy). Secondly, it is good for my own health. Thirdly, being able to look at the open sky above while walking is fun.

Having a job as one of MPD's (Metropolitan Police Department, if you wonder) official private detectives affects my personal life, less much. No holiday. No proper sleeping time. No normal schedule. No time to be involved in a lovey-dovey relationship. No rest, because cases seem to tail me wherever I go. As if I am a god of Death.

Eww.

That thought disgusts me.

So, I immediately brush it off of my head.

I turn left at the next junction; this way is a lot shorter than the usual path people take. The street is dark, narrow and a little stinky. It has a gloomy atmosphere going around. Not my favorite type of route, but it will definitely spare me some extra minutes. There is a garbage disposal point at the right side of the street, which is full of big-sized plastic bags and cardboards. I sneer as I walked pass it. Urgh. The smell is horrible. And the biggest cardboard has a leg protruding from it.

By the next second I stopped dead on my track.

_A leg?_

Turning around, I blinked several times to clear up my vision. I do not feel confident about being mistaken though, since my vision is 20:20. It is just maybe—give emphasis at '_maybe_'—, I am incredibly tired that my eyes were beginning to see something which in reality doesn't even exist. So I blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

And I loudly swore.

"BLOODY HELL!"

That cardboard with a leg is quietly there, as if challenging me to make the next decision. I inhale deeply, torn between contacting Inspector Megure right away or checking the situation myself first. The possibility that whoever—or whatever—inside that box is a corpse is high. _A murder_, my brain automatically deducts. I give a quick sweep around the street before finally pulling out a pair of vinyl gloves from my pocket.

I take a step closer.

That protruding leg is bare and slender. The milky white skin is smooth, delicate, and even though several small cuts and bruises ruin its perfection, I can tell that this body received a good care from the owner. I hold my breath when both my hands grip the end of each lid and yank them open with a strong pull.

I swear for the second time.

"Shit!"

Inside that damn cardboard I see a girl.

A young one.

18? 20? I didn't know for sure. I am simply too dumbstruck seeing what is before my eyes. Clad only in a dirty-looking camisole and black knickers, she curls up helplessly in the thin box. Her body is full with ugly bruises and long scratches; the dry blood around her wounds only makes them look worse. Her mussed hair mattes with dirt, her face is so pale, and those small lips of hers turn blue because of the cold. With thumping heart, I peel off my gloves to touch her skin.

Gods. Her body is ice-cold.

Nonetheless, I don't know she is dead or not.

I carefully squat down beside her to move my palm upwards. I pull up her eyelids gently, then try to check her pulse. My eyes widen in shock when I feet it, weak and almost undetected, pulsing under her freezing skin.

She is still alive.

Barely.

I examine the cardboard one more time. Nothing else. It's just her. No wallet, ID card, driving license, passport, none. There is no way I can know her identity right now. She is, despite of the fact that she is indeed a human, thrown out like a used property.

I ruffle my perfectly-styled hair in frustration.

_Think, Kudo. Think!_

Having an acute hypothermia, she can die anytime. I rummage my brain for a quick decision. I have to do something at a time like this. Fast. There are some options popping out in my head, yet none of them seems to be an easy choice.

First: call Inspector Megure, tell him the truth and let him bring the police here to take care of everything. It will only take a few minutes then _poof!_ Things will be settled as though nothing happens. But... by the time they arrive here, this poor girl may have been dead already. I sigh.

Option one, crossed.

Second: take her to the nearest hospital. This sounds more logical than the first choice, if only I don't remember her beaten-and-almost-naked state. That may cause questions from the staffs, and this girl needs a quick treatment than anything else. Also, I can't help but feel some kind of pity when I imagine her being alone in a silent ward without any relatives or family members taking care of her.

Option two, crossed.

That left with only the last option. Straightening up my posture, I pocket the vinyl gloves, carefully put her protruding leg into the box, close the lids shut and pick up the box with an intention of bringing it home.

I must be crazy.

I, the smart young man named Kudo Shinichi whose intelligence often becomes a great help for the Japanese Police Department, just did a stupid action by rashly taking a stranger home. And that stranger is a wounded, dying girl because of the winter cold.

Not to mention she is clad only in her undergarments.

I can never be any dumber.

* * *

"SORRY, Inspector! But I'm having a sudden diarrhea right now... I'm afraid I won't manage to come there."

I roll my eyes hearing the lame excuse. What on earth am I doing? I must be out of my mind. Inspector Megure, the one whom I always respect, is told a lie that shouldn't be made.

Yet, it's in Inspector's nature to believe whatever I say.

Blind faith, if I may give any personal comment.

"Ah, how unfortunate. It's alright, Kudo-kun. Get well soon!"

"Thanks, Inspector." I say, swallowing down my guilt. The conversation ends and I drag my feet to the living room.

I stare blankly at the big cardboard near my sofa. Okay… time to deal with the main problem.

In a hypothermia case, we need to provide warmth to the one suffering it as quickly as possible to return the body heat. Meaning, hot water, towels, blankets, and clothes are necessary. I cut open the box with big scissors and move her onto the sofa to have a better examination on her condition. She is trembling. Her teeth are chattering so loudly it is almost heartbreaking. I wrap a thick blanket around her body, yet she is still shaking.

Then, I remember something.

_Bath._

My eyes snap open. I gulp nervously, looking down to her figure. Is it okay for me to do this?

_You're a male_, a voice echoes inside my head. _She's a female. This situation can lead to something you'll deeply regret later_…

_Don't be stupid, Kudo Shinichi!_ Another voice snarls to me.

What? I am not stupid!

_Are you just going to root there and watch her die? You aren't a hormonal high school kid anymore_. _Help her! Save her!_

_Oh, you know you cannot back off once you make a further action, Detective Kudo_… the first voice makes a sing-song tone that annoys me so. I'm having an internal war with my logic and my heart, but whichever side that voices come from, they didn't help at all.

_Save her!_

"To hell with it."

I groan in frustration as I put my arms behind her neck and knees for support before lifting her up, taking her cold body to the bathroom. I have to press the heating button using my toe and kick bottles of shampoo and body soap down the counter since my hands are busy. I wait for the water to warm up for about two minutes, and as a matter of fact, it feels like the longest two minutes I have ever experienced. Blame her ice-cold skin. Holding that woman for thirty seconds is enough to make my arms go numb.

She hisses a little when I put her down into the tub. I do it slowly, not letting go of one hand propping her neck, making sure every part of her body is underwater. My ears catch her weak whimper; probably it's because the bruises all over her body sting at the same time. Tilting her head backwards a bit, my other hand works to clean the dirt off of her hair. The water in my tub turn brownish quickly. I grab a bottle of shampoo, flick the lid open and slather a huge amount of its content onto her wet locks.

Then my eyes fall upon something I do not recognize is there. A thin chain is around her neck and both ends are connected with a small plate like a tag. My pupils narrow as my soap-covered hand brings the plate a few centimeters closer to read the letters carved onto it.

**SHIHO**.

Nothing much. Nothing less.

Is it her name?

No?

Or yes?

I flip over the plate but none is written on the backside. I can feel my forehead frown in disappointment. Believe it or not, this lack of information makes me feel as though I just brought home a stray cat.

An injured, dying stray cat.

"Oh. Whatever," I murmur indifferently as my hand fetch the shower to rinse the shampoo off of her hair. Now after it is cleaned well, I see that girl is blessed with beautiful strawberry-blonde locks.

Done with her hair, I prepare myself to work on the next part.

The hard part of this task.

Washing the body.

You know it isn't only because she has so many ugly scar and bruises so I have to be extremely careful.

I'm afraid of losing composure.

You cannot blame me. I am a male, after all.

Plus, a straight one.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and mutter a quick prayer. Then, I grab the soap I use every day, starting to clean her pale skin with gentle rubs and massages without wasting more time.

Just so you know, I do not dare to peel the clothes off. Instead, I slip my hand under the garments when I cleanse her body. Not much difference, I know. But at least I feel that I still respect her privacy by not looking at her nude form. As I finish bathing her, I make a mental note to wear sunglasses if I am going to change her rags later (I don't mean to sound harsh, but her clothing indeed looked like ones, with that level of dirt and rips).

* * *

TINY bubbles pop on the surface of the porridge I am making. I pick up a wooden spatula from the counter, stir it a little to check if it had been well-cooked or not. Nodding in approval, I switch off the stove before covering the pot to keep the porridge warm. My eyes dart to the guest room which door is left open—that girl is sleeping there—as I wash my hands clean.

I cannot help but wonder what had actually occurred to her.

"I can ask her directly. Maybe later," I mumble to myself while picking up a smaller bowl, two spoons, and a glass of water. Right now I only have to take care of her until she becomes conscious enough for a conversation.

I heave a sigh and carry the tray with food into the guest chamber where she lie there, under three layers of thick blankets and is clothed in my old sweater and sweat pants. Her breathing has calmed down, which relieves me, and although I know that she isn't actually sleeping, she looks as peaceful as one.

Spooning a smaller portion of the porridge into another bowl I brought, I drag a chair, pulling it closer to the bed. I gently touch the tip of the spoon to her lower lip, which parts slightly in response. She must have been starving, I note mentally.

"Eat." I said although she won't give me any answer. "Your body needs it."

She swallows her food instinctively. I continue feeding her until the bowl is clean and fix her blanket, giving her some time to have a proper rest. After cleaning up the dishes, I move to my study to check MPD's database. Perhaps I can find something related to this girl-with-name-tag in the list of missing person.

Or in the list of uncaught criminal.

The last thought gives shiver up and down my spine.

What if… I brought home a criminal?

But really? This innocent-looking woman?

A criminal?

"Okay, Kudo. Focus, focus!" I slapped my own face to shoo away unnecessary thoughts. "Never conclude anything when you have no basis for it."

Maybe it sounds stupid talking to yourself, but trust me, it can keep you sane if you often work under pressure. And before you start questioning, I will explain that it's not that I dislike my job as a detective. How could I? I've been dreaming of becoming one since long time ago. Nonetheless, facing dead bodies, competing with time and criminals (who sometimes attach bomb or send letter of threat) to prevent more victim is quite a huge pressure.

Even a pro like me is still prone to stress.

I drag my finger along the back of the thick maps lined neatly in the shelf and the pulled one out. True, everything I need to look up was already in my laptop, but I'd rather do stuff like this in an orthodox way. Looking at the monitor for hours makes me tired easily. Ineffective, you know.

I've done checking the third map—the last one—, deciding that there's nothing to help me finding out her identity.

Perhaps for now I can call her Shiho.

Actually, I feel bad for treating a human like a stray animal, but… considering her condition when I found her, doesn't she resemble one?

Putting back the map into the line, I let my other hand comb my hair backwards. For years, I've been dealing with murders, threats, accidents, various kinds of crime and have never found any significant difficulties in settling them down. But it would be impossible for me to handle this kind of matter… alone.

I have to tell someone.

By the next second I already grabbed the phone.

"Hattori? It's me."

* * *

"YOU can't be serious." Hattori Heiji shakes his head in disbelief, looking at the sleeping bundle on the bed, completely dumbfounded. I called him around four hours ago and suddenly he pops out at my doorway, confessing that he just can't believe my story no matter what if he doesn't see it with his very own eyes. Frankly speaking, I always wonder how this tan-skinned bollocks could fly all the way from Osaka to Tokyo as though he commutes using Yamanote Line train.

He has been like that since his high-school days, you know.

Just how rich his family could be?

"I'm dead serious." I reply.

"That chick is hot, Kudo!" Heiji says again. "Very pretty. And all for yourself! God, life is indeed, unfair."

"Kazuha would have killed you if she heard you speak like that." I mention the name of his fiancée, Toyama Kazuha, the only daughter of an elite policeman who is as well Heiji's childhood friend. She is strong-willed, quite short-tempered, and good at judo—although '_good_' is a total understatement—which makes her almost as dangerous as a mad criminal.

In a flash his face gets drains from all color. Heiji cringes. "You'll never tell her."

"Because you'll end up as a dead pile?"

"Probably even worse."

Heiji clears his throat, recomposing his detective instinct and beginning to examine the girl. From the way his eyes move, I can tell that he gives the treated wounds and bruises special attention. He stops his examination after a few minutes. "Kudo, can you tell me again how you found her?"

So I repeat the complicated story for him.

"Her name isn't in the database?" Heiji sounds surprised. "But then, who the hell in this earth would throw away a living person like some trash? If she isn't one of the missing people, then there's only one answer."

"She's the victim of a new case."

Heiji agrees with me. "Yeah. A murder attempt?"

"It could be a human rights abuse case. She's beaten, isn't she?"

"Let's wait for her to wake up. After that we can start questioning." Heiji says, taking off his leather jacket and hanging it behind the door. I see he had left his trademark baseball cap behind since he was accepted to work in Kansai Police Department as a member of the investigation team. Not bad, I think, but still… it feels a little weird seeing him without the cap.

Although it has been years.

We spend another two hours exchanging experiences in handling murder cases or solving tricky tricks used in them. It seems the two of us would never lack of topic for conversations. We are nearly drowned in the atmosphere, had it not been for a soft gasp coming from our backs.

I turn around.

And I see her.

Standing shyly behind the threshold, gripping the end of her sweater so tight until her pale knuckles redden, she stands wordlessly with her round, turquoise eyes signaling confusion. I tap Heiji's shoulder. "Hattori. She's there."

"Whoa," he whirls around with a gasp. "God, Kudo, she's cute."

I try hard not to simply step on Hattori's feet. From the corner of my eye I see her—what's her name anyway? Oh yeah, Shiho—begins to back off, retreating to the bedroom. Without thinking, I call out.

"Wait! Wait up!"

She stops moving, fear flashes in her clear orbs. Her lips tremble but she doesn't say anything.

"Um…" I fumble for words before say lamely, "Do you want a second serving?"

She looks up at me with those big eyes but refuses to answer.

Heiji sighs. Feeling impatient, he snatches a bowl and a spoon, waving them in the air like a sign. "Food. Eat. You" He beckons her over. "Come here. We don't bite, if that's what you are concerning about."

"Are you stupid?" I hiss at him. "She won't listen to you. Not when you treat her like she's a dumb."

"Oh, she will." Heiji answers confidently, and my annoyance grows when Shiho, slowly and hesitantly, takes a small steps forward (Heiji whispers "_yes!_" under his breath; I swear I heard him). She glances around in alert, but she steadily approaches us anyway.

Quickly, I pour her a bowl of miso soup. That's the only thing I can get her for now. Heiji really caught me off guard by mentioning food. Really, I hate that fellow as much as I like him.

"Be careful. Don't burn your tongue." I say, putting the bowl in front of her. She inhales long and deep, taking in the aroma of the soup before her fingers fumble to pick the chopsticks.

Heiji takes several steps closer to me as she eats.

"Didn't you see her eyes?"

Perplexed, I blink idiotically. "What?"

"Her eyes," Heiji repeats. "It seems exactly like someone who's having a big shock after an incident. In some cases it can also cause memory loss and disability of speaking."

I gasp. "Are you saying that…"

"She might be a victim of something, yes. We may need to look it up. I reckon that for the mean time, she stays with you, Kudo. You live alone. No parents. No relatives. No girlfriend, so there will be no fuss about it."

I almost fell down my seat.

Almost.

"Excuse me?!"

"Are you saying you're going to abandon her?" Heiji gives me an innocent look even though his words exasperate me to the very end. I hate it that he can pretend to be innocent when all he does are the exact opposite. I don't have such a blessing, just so you know. "Kudo, since when did you become so heartless?"

That's _exactly_ what I'm talking about.

* * *

APPARENTLY that Shiho girl cannot speak. Or probably she doesn't want to speak. It has been almost twenty hours since I brought her home from the street and she hasn't utter a word yet. Even a syllable. To be precise, she doesn't do anything at all. After finishing the miso soup I gave her this afternoon, she just sat on the sofa with eyes fixed on me. I felt her looking, of course, but I tried to simply brush it off because she looked as though she would cry if I tell her to not stare. So I collected her bowl and put it in the dishwasher and began cleaning up, and the moment I went back to the living room she was asleep again.

Eat.

Sleep.

Eat.

Sleep.

I notice she won't eat unless it is something I prepare for her. I try to tempt her by placing a plate filled with warm scones on the dining table but she doesn't touch them. I pour a glass of fresh milk and purposefully leave it within her arms reach yet she doesn't seem to care. Only when I say, "You can drink it!" she shifts closer to the glass and empties its content in a flash.

Weird.

I manage to show her the toilet before she pees on my carpet or somewhere else. Knowing her unwillingness to talk, that isn't possible to happen.

"Shiho." After giving her share of dinner, I sit across the girl, watching her munch eagerly on mashed potato. "That's your name, isn't it? It'd better be, otherwise I won't know how to call you."

She stops eating and raises her face, boring both turquoise orbs at me. I take it as an affirmation.

"Do you have a family?"

To my disappointment, Shiho drops her gaze and continues to eat. I straighten my back and am going to heave a sigh when I see her shake head. A no. A grin begins to form across my face. She clearly understands what other people are saying. Well, this new knowledge helps a lot. So I know that it isn't necessary to use sign language—something which two hours ago or so crossed my mind.

"Do you live around here?"

No.

"Do you remember who you are?"

She ignores the question. I smooth back my bangs; this is far more difficult than what I imagine it would be. But I'm not being called a genius detective for nothing. And patience is one of my good points which make me who I am.

"Alright, here's the thing." Bending forward slightly, I try to get her attention again. "If you're going stay with me for God only knows how long, then I have my conditions."

Still chewing, Shiho steals a glance at me.

Okay, at least she _is _listening.

"First, everyday I'm working until five in the afternoon—formally. There are also times when I can't get any holiday at all, and I need you to behave when I'm out. No mess, no thrash, don't spill anything, don't touch anything, don't go anywhere as you please, just stay put and be a good girl."

Really, I want to scream in frustration. I can't help but feel like an idiot, speaking aloud to someone who refuses to answer it normally.

But then, as she hands in the empty plate with hopeful look for another serving, I catch a small nod from her.

Without thinking I burst out. "Are you always like that? Taking so bloody long time just to nod or shake your head?"

Of course that girl won't say a thing.

I'm stupid for expecting any.

Sighing heavily, I stand to my feet and walk to the kitchenette. As I fill her plate with more mashed potato and casserole, I make a mental wish that tonight will not become any chaotic than it already is.

My wish isn't granted.

Trouble starts when I realize Shiho, just like common people, has to care about her hygiene. So I show her where the bathroom is and carefully explain in what time I usually take bath. She listens to me attentively, though not giving me verbal responses, and after I'm sure she gets the rub of my speech I open the drawer behind the washstand's mirror, taking out a new toothbrush.

"Do you know how to use this?" I ask her.

Shiho pulls the toothbrush out of my hand and calmly imitates teeth-brushing. _Very well_. So I don't need to demonstrate it. Less work to be done is better; I feel as though my body aged a decade in one day.

"You can use everything here." I said, opening the door which separates the changing area and the bathing area. "Shampoo, body wash, toothpaste. But don't touch this one, it's face wash for men. I'll buy something else for you tomorrow. Got it?"

A small nod is her feedback.

"Go take a bath first. I still have something to do."

So I leave her there to strip down and enjoy the luxury of a hot tub while I'm preparing some paperwork in my study to be read later. My recent case is quite tricky, there are so many things I haven't figured out. I reach for a file map and begin re-read the document inside.

Time flies.

I'm pulled back into reality by a sneezing sound. The noise reminds me that I am no longer living alone. Stepping outside my study, I look around my apartment with alert. "Shiho?" I call her. "What's wrong?"

Another sneeze is heard from behind my back. Turning ninety degrees on my feet, I'm face to face with the girl and almost experiencing a heart attack because of what comes into view.

Trembling slightly from cold, she stands before me, several drops of water dripping down from her temples, hair, chin, even fingertips.

Stark naked.

_Shit_, I cursed mentally. _I can't avert my eyes!_

In panic I try to rake my brain. Those idiotic male hormones make thinking four times more difficult. Vaguely I feel blood rushing to a particular part of my anatomy, yet I do my best to ignore it and focus. _What did I do wrong? What did I miss? Why is she appearing like this? Why isn't she wearing at least a towel, or_…

Then it hits me.

Towel.

I forgot to lend her a fcking towel. And it's obvious if she doesn't know where I keep it.

She sneezes again. If I don't do something quick, she'll definitely catch a cold. Clearing my throat to shoo away one or two perverted thoughts flashing across my mind, I snatch any cloth within arm reach (it's a small blanket I usually use to warm my legs while reading or watching TV) and swiftly step forward to cover her exposed body.

She lets out her third sneeze. Guilt creeps into me.

"Sorry," whisper me, honest and sincere. "I'm at fault here. Come on, I'll give you something warm to wear."

As she puts on my old jumper and sweatpants, I make her a big mug of hot chocolate—an attempt to atone my sin.

Taking care of someone is not as easy as I thought it would be. Whatever happened today are actual proofs. Unfortunately, that is only the beginning of it all. I'm going to live with this mysterious Shiho girl from today onwards until I find her actual home.

Until that day, I must survive.

**.**

**to be continued.**


	2. Verso

from **skybluescramble**:

hello guys, thank you very much for the warm response !

this is the last part of this fic.

and forgive me if it has a kind of 'unfinished' feeling. I intended to somehow make it like a prologue, so I left it open (that's also the reason why I put this story into 'Mystery' category :p ).

don't hate me, please.

*runs in and hides under a shelter*

proofreader credit: **koichii**.

reviewer credit: **ANimelOVEr**, **Myx078-Secret**, **hai-edogawa**, **Solera**, **holmesfreak1412**, **vccliu00**, **OcHa. Choco. cHips**, **guest 1**, and** Sherrys-fan**.

* * *

DISCLAIMER:

Detective Conan/名探偵コナン

Gosho Aoyama©1994

* * *

**:: Lost & Found ::**

**.**

**- Verso -**

**.**

YOU know me. I know you do, despite of your denial. In case you don't know me yet, don't worry, I'll happily introduce name is Kudo Shinichi, a twenty nine year-old handsome lad working as MPD's official private detective. Well-paid, in case you're wondering about my salary. I usually even receive extra payment from the clients if I succeed in solving their case, which happens almost all the time. I don't have a girlfriend—not interested in making one, by the way—, but for the last three months I've been living together with a mysterious girl named Shiho.

That woman, if anything, frustrates me well.

I've tried to investigate her, dig up information that may lead to her personal data, check the profile of crime witnesses and victims one by one, even go back to the place where I found her several times but nothing comes to fruition.

I hit a dead end.

Three bloody months and nothing.

That's excruciating.

"Kudo! Come! You have to see this!" Inspector Megure's booming voice ruins my reminiscing moment. In a flash I become aware of where I am and what I am doing: I'm in a crime scene, in search of some evidences or clues left by the criminal.

I run to the voice source. "Roger!"

It's a murder case that happened in a brothel. The one killed was a middle-aged man, which we found out was the owner of that bordello. His cause of death is repetitious stab on his stomach and excessive loss of blood. His body was found early in the morning by the cleaning lady, who was pretty clever to immediately phone the police instead of freaking out. Officer Takagi Wataru and Sato Miwako have questioned all prostitutes present, but unfortunately they have an alibi—or so it seems—and nobody suspicious came over recently.

Much later, as reddish twilight streaks decorated the sky, I slipped under the police line barricading the crime scene, feeling hungrier than ever. It's impossible to solve this case within a day, so Inspector Megure instructed us to continue investigating tomorrow.

A super jumbo-sized beef ramen will provide my stomach enough peace until morning.

Proceeding to my car, I contemplated the idea of having dinner at my favorite ramen parlor. That really sounds nice.

Perhaps I'll do that.

Shiho can wait some extra minutes.

"I'm home."

Putting my shoes in a rack beside the doormat, I let out a sigh I didn't realize I'm holding. My body is sore from crouching down all day, but my tummy isn't growling wildly anymore, thanks to that good serving of ramen. Stepping noises, though faint at first, are heard coming from the kitchenette. I smile unconsciously. Starting from her second weeks staying with me, Shiho begins to show this particular habit of welcoming my arrival and sending me off to work.

Every. Single. Day.

Not that I mind it, though.

Shiho sits down right beside me, looking at the small box I'm holding, expectantly.

"Cake." I chuckled; she always gets excited everytime I bring a package home. "You can eat whatever you want. I bought plenty enough." With a smile, I opened the box and showed her the contents. Espresso brownies, blueberry cheesecake, red velvet cake, coconut scone, and—of course—strawberry shortcake.

You may say that I'm buying too much… but honestly, what do you know about _her _appetite?

"I also bought pasta for your dinner. There's a new restaurant across the main street." I rise to my feet and hand in both take-away packages to her. "Here. Put the cakes on the dining table. I'll join you after changing clothes."

Have I forgotten to tell you something?

Shiho has showed a few developments. She still refuses to speak normally, and that makes me under the impression of her being mute, but she starts helping me around. For example: taking out plates and other silverwares and then wiping them clean using a tablecloth when she sees me cooking, arranging the groceries I buy into the fridge, handing out my car key every morning when I go to work, also some more things. True, they are only trivial stuffs, yet nonetheless it's a good progress.

Moreover, it makes me less lonely.

* * *

ACCOMPANIED by Shiho, I sit down in the living room scanning through my work files. Sipping my rich, decaf coffee, I summarize the information I got today and scribble them down in my pocket notebook. I secretly squinted at the girl, curious of what she's doing, and a huge grin formed across my face as I notice she's busy munching her strawberry shortcake, eyes fixed on the TV.

She's such a definite glutton.

"Hey," I show her the suspects' portrait. "Between these people, which one is the most likely to murder someone? What do you reckon?"

I know it's stupid to ask her.

But hell, that idea just pops out in my head.

Maybe—just maybe—, she can recognize one or two small, important things that are oversight.

Shiho stops chewing. She examines the portraits from distance, as though deciding whether they interest her enough or not before crawling closer; one hand still holding her half-eaten cake.

A minute passes.

I open my mouth, ready to repeat the question. Unfortunately, she is a split second faster than me. Her small, delicate forefinger shots out, pointing to an unexpected suspect. I blinked in surprise, looking at her and the portrait alternately. "Are you sure?"

She has chosen the most innocent-looking one.

My brows rise.

"Well…" My hand flips that particular portrait, examining carefully. "True, there's a saying that the least suspicious one is usually the actual culprit… but—"

My sentence stops midway.

_Wait._

_If I'm not mistaken…_

Hurriedly I snatch the big, brown envelope full with crime scene pictures. There should be some clues slipping off my attention. Pouring its content onto the _tatami_, my eyes scan pictures after pictures briefly. An ear-to-ear grin slowly spreads across my face not long after. Nothing is more fun than finding something you're looking for, isn't it?

I feel Shiho scoot closer. She rests against my side, enthusiastically examining those scattered pictures. The hair at the top of her head tickles my neck, but her weight on me doesn't feel unpleasant. "Do you want to look at them? You can also touch them, it's okay. They're not evidence."

Shiho doesn't need to be told twice.

Her visage is quite funny as she picks the closest picture and takes a good look at it. Her eyes widen and narrow alternately, pure curiosity is all over her face. She's exactly like a kindergarten. I can't help not to smile in amusement.

"By the way…" I drawl, massaging my sore neck with a hand. "Tomorrow, we'll have a guest. I hope you don't mind to stay in your room."

She doesn't say anything back, yet I know she understands.

* * *

"YAMAGUCHI-SAN, I need to hear your opinion about something. Your cooperation is very necessary for this investigation to develop further." That is what I said to the man sitting on my sofa. His name is Yamaguchi Tatsuo, seven years older than me, and he's somehow a witness of the brothel murder case I handle. He is considered a regular in that place, so I hope he has useful information. "I'll make us some tea and then we can talk."

As a private detective, I have the privilege of arranging meetings with witnesses or case's survivors as I please. However, I also can't use MPD rooms when I have a meeting, as I'm not even a policeman. So, whenever I make an appointment I have to choose a meeting point, and if I'm too lazy to go out, I'll simply invite them to my place. A little risky, actually, but it's not like I'll be targeted by a terrorist. Oh come on! Despite being an excellent detective, I'm not _that_ important as a human being.

"Would you like to have some macaroons?"

Yamaguchi nodded, but then he remembers I cannot see him from the kitchenette. "Yes, please."

Five minutes later, I'm back to the living room holding a tray. On it are a plate of colorful macaroons and two cups of tea. "Please, enjoy. You can just talk slowly, Yamaguchi-san. No need to rush. I'm willing to listen, even if it takes all day."

Well… I'm good at being patient. At least, better than that dark-skinned Osaka brat.

You know, it's Hattori Heiji. The young, famous detective from the West. My best rival as well as my best partner.

In case you don't get who I meant.

"But… I don't really know what to say…"

A small smile plastered across my face. "Please don't think hard about it. Macaroons?"

"Ah, thank you." Smiling nervously, Yamaguchi reaches out his hand and picks a green tea-flavored macaroon. Typical choice of a matured man, for such flavor usually has adult taste and less sweet. "_Itadakimasu_."

"How is it?"

"It's good," admits Yamaguchi whilst chewing. "Isn't there a cinnamon-flavored one? It's my favorite."

"Of course. Please take as much as you like, no need to restrain. There are still lots of them."

Silence followed after; both I and Yamaguchi are silently enjoying our tea and snacks. For the next ten minutes we don't have any conversation at all. Heiji may be irate at such a slow progress, yet I know very well that letting the witnesses relax will help them remembering more things. They will tell details. Trivial stuffs which are usually forgotten when they are asked to speak under pressure will come out naturally.

I've told you I'm good with patience, haven't I?

"Um, Kudo-san…"

Swallowing my red bean-flavored macaroon, I raise my eyes to meet his. "Yes?"

"Actually, I have something to tell you about. Probably this will be some help for the investigation—"

At that moment, I'm too caught up in what he's saying. Happening around my presence notwithstanding, I do not notice other things. For instance, the fact that Shiho has been peeping through the small creak of her door with hate and disgust reflected in her turquoise orbs.

* * *

MARCH twenty-third. I find out for the first time Shiho isn't home when I get back from work. Panic is my initial reaction, of course, and I search for her frantically, running along the streets like a mad man. My eyes are darting at every direction; I would put hawks to shame. I almost decide calling the police for a missing report, but then I remember that one only considered missing when she or he doesn't come home and is beyond reach over twenty four hours.

She appears smiling broadly in my doorway right before sunset—

—drenched from head to toe—

—her small hands are holding a fish-shaped kite.

_What the hell_. Who is the stupid brat playing kite in such time? Spring has only begun! Don't people usually play kites in summer?

My eyes drifted downwards. She's barefoot, of course. It's true that I never gave her anything else but house slippers due to her daily habit of not going anywhere. Nevertheless, I don't expect her going outside without footwear.

"Where have you been?" I snap at her even before my brain is done arranging a better sentence. Not that I'm justifying my doing, but for gods' sake I'm so worried. In spite of having the looks of a grown-up woman, Shiho is practically the same as a five year-old kid, if not more worrisome. Plus, she doesn't talk. Not even a syllable. I've been living under the same roof with her for three whole months and never once hear her voice.

Asking her is a futile act, obviously, but it's the first thing that came into my mind.

Shiho's smile doesn't falter. She casually steps forward, leaving wet trail behind her as she makes an approach towards me, offering the kite like a present. My anger instantly recedes.

Sighing heavily, I finger-comb my bangs backwards. I'm definitely turning into a softie whenever it comes to her. _Damn_. "Go take a bath. Or else, you'll get sick. Geez… being this wet, where have you been? Playing in the river?"

Obviously, she won't answer.

The second time I don't find her home is three days later. The cherry blossoms are beginning to bloom, and I guess she's just curious with the scenery outside as much as bored with staying home all the time. She arrives home at five in the afternoon sharp, making great noises by banging her fists against my door. I grumpily open it for her, ready to give the girl a good, long angry lecture had it not been for the broad, joyful smile that greeted me. Shiho carefully opens her clenched fists—that's the reason she cannot open the door despite it's not locked—and shows me what's inside.

Cherry blossom petals.

They aren't many of them, only three or four strands, since this week is not the full-blooming time yet. Getting fallen petals is still pretty difficult, yet she comes home bringing me some.

Just how far did this woman go, honestly?

If you think I'd lock the door next time or disallow her to go out, then you're mistaken. True, I'm curious about what she's doing outside and why she always does that within my working time, but I let her off because she is able to go back home safely. You may think I'm reckless, I'm very aware of it, but I don't intend to keep her prisoner. It's natural for a person to feel bored, isn't it?

Taking in her appearance—navy blue long-sleeved T-shirt, black sweatpants, and house slippers—, unconsciously I roll my eyes. If she goes out again in such a state, someone in the neighborhood will definitely notice the strangeness.

"Very well, then." Sighing in defeat, I accept those petals she gives. "Next time, I'll take you for a walk. Until then, please don't go out as you like."

Shiho grins sheepishly.

"Go inside. Watch TV while I prepare dinner for us. No, no, no, Shiho, leave your slippers there, I'll get you new ones. They're dirty, don't wear them again, okay?"

When Shiho passes me by, I catch a faint whiff of cinnamon smell.

* * *

"AARGH, my neck hurts!"

"Takagi-kun, could you stop acting like an old man? You're not even forty!" scolds Sato Miwako, gently hitting the back of her partner's head using her water bottle. Right now, the three of us are inside the MPD headquarters' cafeteria ordering our lunch.

"But I'm already thirty-six."

"You are _only_ thirty-six!" Miwako's voice gets a bit higher as she continues with her retort. "Are you feeling old? Pull yourself together! That's the same with calling an old hag, you know, since we're in the same age."

"What? I'm not!"

Whoa, whoa, this bantering can go on forever if I don't do something.

"Well, well, Takagi-san, Sato-san, let's stop it here, alright? Lunch break is almost over."

Though seemed reluctant, Miwako shrugs nonchalantly and takes a seat beside Wataru, happily opening her convenient store lunch box. "_Itadakimasu_."

For your information, Miwako never once make her own meals. Using the enormity of her working time as an excuse, everyday she brings convenient store lunch box or rice balls to workplace. Some other time, she buys whatever the cafeteria sells. Despite her popularity thanks to that pretty face of hers, she's also quite famous as 'an investigator lady who has no sense of femininity'.

To be frank, I'm a bit interested in finding the one who comes up with that nickname.

Thinking I'd better eat now, I reach for my chopsticks and put both palms together in a praying state. "_Itadakimasu_."

At my fifth spoonful, Wataru's cell-phone rings so loud I nearly choke from the surprise. He stands up quickly, going from slack-off mode to alert mode in a flash.

"This is Takagi. Ah, Inspector? Yes, we'll be there right away!"

"What's wrong?" asks Miwako, emptying the content of her water bottle. "New case?"

"Yeah." Wataru nods, his face is a perfect combination between shock and disbelief. "Yamaguchi Tatsuo-san, a witness in our previous brothel case, his house is on fire now… so Inspector said."

Both I and Miwako immediately stand up. "WHAT?"

* * *

THE dark smoke rises high; policemen are busy barricading the perimeter whilst firemen are doing their best to put out the flames. Some neighbors are gathering outside, keeping distance with the dangerous area and whispering to each other, their faces are filled with worry, inwardly hoping the fire won't spread. After getting out of the patrol car, I examine the burning building as my brain rakes recollection of conversations I had with Yamaguchi. Something must be wrong. I have a hunch that this is no accident.

"Excuse me!" I call out to the closest fireman. "Are there people inside?"

"We've checked all rooms but found no one." He replies.

I nod in understanding. "Oh."

_So it's empty, then_…

Or maybe not.

Because I catch a glimpse of something moving behind a closed window at the second floor.

"Is here any well or faucet?" I asked to actually no one, as my head turns left and right alternatively looking for particular objects. I find neither of them, unfortunately, but instead I see a small fountain in a park, around a hundred meters away.

That will do.

Without dilly-dallying I rush there and splash the water all over my body like crazy, not caring even if I'm wearing suit. I have to make sure it's not a person trapped in the flames that I just see. Next, I barge into the house, trespassing the barrier made by the police and firemen, ignoring their angry shouts.

"Hey! You! It's dangerous!"

"Kudo-san!"

"Kudo-kun! Don't!"

Holy crap. Inspector Megure spots me. Guess I need to prepare myself for his infamous two-hour lecture after this.

As expected, getting inside a house fire is troublesome. Not to mention, thrilling. Probably a little _too_ thrilling. You know, my life is at stake and I can easily die here.

"Anybody's here?" I call out from the top of my lungs, making my way to the living room. Thankfully, the fire is not that terrible so I'm still able to make progress with my steps.

"Please answer!"

Using the unburned basin in the kitchen, I pour a big bowl of water over my head before heading upstairs. I'm pretty sure I'm not imagining things; someone is trapped in this place!

"It's alright! Let's get out together!"

By the time I reach the last tread, the smoke is getting thicker and breathing becomes difficult. Coughing slightly, I kick open the first door I find—the handle must be hot already; that's why I don't open it conventionally.

But then I'm left speechless because of the sight before me.

First, I see something glints—presumably a metal object. After that, my brain identifies a human silhouette. The height is quite low, so I make a quick guess that he or she is sitting down. From the femininity of the figure—narrow shoulders, medium-length hair, small back, and several other factors—I know it's a woman. Between thickening smoke and fire I also see the movement of an arm, as though that person is punching the wooden floor.

_Wait_.

She's not alone.

I find myself staring at a pair of unmoving legs. It's an incredibly shocking discovery my body goes still for about ten seconds. Then with haste, I approach them both, only to be halted abruptly when my shoes step upon something wet, pooling around those two.

Blood.

Goddamn blood.

My eyes quickly darted upwards to get a better view of the object in the woman's hand—it's the glinting thing I saw first when entering this room.

A kitchen knife.

For logic's sake, I'm face to face with a murderer right fcking now. Inside a burning house. Not to mention she's still holding the weapon. Hell. What if I will never get out of this place alive?

I'm a professional detective. But today, I make a fatal mistake by thinking too much and not noticing that the woman is slowly rising on her feet, both arms are at her side, blood remnants dripping from the tip of the knife.

She turns around.

Our eyes meet—my shocked ones to her dull, turquoise orbs.

My breath stops midway.

_No way._

"Shiho?"

**.**

**the end.**


End file.
